


When Harry Met Severus

by Inkcentricity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-03-25 14:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13836666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkcentricity/pseuds/Inkcentricity
Summary: What if Hagrid was not able to take Harry Potter to Diagon Alley...?  What if a reluctant Professor Snape was sent instead?





	1. The Unwilling Errand Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The World of Harry Potter is the creation and property of J. K. Rowling. This work is for entertainment only, I've never been able to persuade anyone to pay me to write.
> 
> This was not what I meant to write today, but it is one of my favourite "what if" scenarios and it flowed so nicely (not that that is any guarantee of the results).

Albus Dumbledore liked to give the impression that he was in control of any given situation. He didn’t like surprises although he rather enjoyed springing them on others.

Today he was truly exasperated. His blue eyes still twinkled madly but while they might convey good humour they were actually concealing a racing brain as he tried to salvage his plans.

Hagrid had been thrilled to be asked to take Harry to Diagon Alley to collect his school supplies, so why on earth had he been so careless last night and upset one of the thestrals? The resulting broken ribs and black eyes meant that Hagrid wasn’t going anywhere for at least the next week.

“Well,” he mused, “if I can’t have a positive introduction to Hogwarts, I’ll have to go with negative re-enforcement instead. I can’t spare Minerva today, we have only a month until the start of the school year.”

“Severus, son, do you have a moment?” Dumbledore summoned the dour young potions master as he endeavoured to escape from the breakfast table without being seen.

“Yes, Albus?” The frustration at being caught morphed into irritation and defiance at the headmaster’s next words.

“Please could you collect Mr. Potter from the Dursleys and take him to Diagon Alley for me?”

“Would not Filius or Minerva be better suited to this errand, Albus?” Severus Snape knew there was no getting out of this assigned task but protest was expected and it gave him time to consider how to accomplish the mission and there was always the hope that Albus might let slip some clue about the desired outcome.

“I need Minerva today and I can’t really ask Filius to go to a muggle neighbourhood.”

“But my brewing for Poppy can be pushed further and further back until I am pulling all-nighters ten days before the start of term?”

“It would be good for you to get out in the fresh air … besides, you knew Petunia when you were younger, didn’t you?” The twinkle in Albus’ eyes grew perceptibly brighter.

“I’m hardly her favourite person, Headmaster.” Snape stated as neutrally as possible. “In fact,” he groused to himself, “it is to be hoped that she no longer recognizes me.” He paused for a second. “How do you want me to handle this Albus? I don’t usually do the visits to the muggleborn children.”

“Exactly the same way you handle your Slytherins, of course!” Albus beamed at the capitulation. “Oh, and can you pick up a package from Gringotts for me? You’ll need to come and get Harry’s vault key as well.”

Severus Snape had been a spy and before he’d been a spy he’d been a Slytherin. He took pride in his ability to roll with the punches, absorb information on the fly and generally carry on calmly while Armageddon rained down. In three sentences, Albus Dumbledore had shredded his ability to function.

Firstly, he wasn’t surprised that Albus knew he visited the families of some of his Slytherins but given the old man knew that, how could he be so ignorant to the purpose of those visits as to suggest Harry Potter might be in need of the same intervention? Was he hinting at known problems in the Boy-who-lived’s household? Surely not. But then, had anyone ever checked?

Secondly, he knew what Hagrid was collecting from Gringotts. Albus wanted him to waltz around Diagon Alley with an eleven-year-old in tow and the philosopher’s stone in his pocket? Not bloody likely.

Thirdly, and don’t think he’d missed this, why did Albus have Harry’s vault key? The boy himself should have it or it should be waiting at Gringotts for him to collect.

Knowing he was several seconds too slow in replying he just nodded and made a swift exit from the great hall.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two Gringotts’ keys acquired and one escape from Albus later, Severus Snape found himself outside Minerva McGonagall’s quarters.

“Come in, Severus!” She called as he raised his hand to knock.

“Infuriating woman,” he muttered as he opened the door.

“How are you today? Looking forward to your field trip?”

Severus snorted inelegantly. “No Minerva I am not. I feel like I just got thrown into shark infested waters without a wand. What do you know about Potter’s family?”

“Albus said you knew Petunia.”

“Twenty years ago I knew the child that became Petunia. Have there been any reports of problems or accidental magic? Has anyone checked on the boy in ten years?”

“No, no and no. Albus wouldn’t allow it on the last one. I did ask.” 

“Do you know why I visit some of the Slytherins at home?”

Now Minerva McGonagall looked flustered. “I, erm, heard that, erm, you were, erm, ‘convincing’ them to change the way they were raising their children.”

“That’s one way of putting it. I look at it as ‘putting the fear of the Dark Lord into them’ if their children return to me with bruises or scars, mental or physical, that cannot be explained. My reputation precedes me, so usually they listen.” He paused. “If you know that, surely Albus does? If so, I am very concerned that he thinks Mr. Potter should require such support.”

Minerva is now looking faintly ill, he observes, so maybe now would be a good time to give her a dose of reality. “It isn’t just Slytherin families I visit, you know.”

Ten minutes later, he leaves, clutching a sheaf of parchments about introducing muggleborns to the wizarding world. Behind him, Minerva McGonagall is muttering about it never being too early for a fortifying nip of whisky.

Gringotts first. That is obvious. Back to Hogwarts, then on to Privet Drive.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The stop at Gringotts is uneventful. He minds his manners. Trying to remember everything Lucius taught him while removing the supercilious prejudice is not always easy but he is bringing Harry Potter in later and there is no need to damage the boy’s relations with the goblins by irritating them now.

He returns to the castle and hands the small package over to Dumbledore who has the gall to look disappointed in him. So he was meant to flash the mystery in front of Potter? He is lost for words again. What is Dumbledore playing at? That’s a headache to consider later.

He stops off in the dungeons and thinks about the next stage of his plan. He needs muggle clothes, a set of robes, his “intervention” kit and a headache relief potion before he goes anywhere.

A quick “tempus” shows that it is already 10am. Time to get the show on the road.

Now, does he try to impress Petunia or irritate her? He doesn’t try to suppress the wicked grin on his face.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If anyone saw the man walking up to the front door of 4, Privet Drive, they might’ve thought, aging rock star, Hell’s Angel or just “trouble”. Severus Snape was pretty sure teacher would not make anyone’s top ten but wasn’t that the point?

He had dug out his skinny jeans, annoyed to find that he had to expand the waist. The original Ramones T-shirt still fitted but his leather jacket needed letting out across the shoulders. He ignored the doorbell and raising his fist, beat a sharp tattoo on the front door.

“Yeah, waddaya want?” The miniature blubber sack demanded glaring up at him. This was Harry Potter? Snape just glared back forcing himself to remember that there were potential issues here and his perfectly rational hatred of James Potter HAD to be set aside.

“Dudley! What have I told you about opening the door to strangers?” 

Not Potter then. But Petunia? The sour horse-faced woman marching towards him was Lily’s sister? Suddenly the need to add a couple of inches to the waist of his jeans seemed a small price to pay for the passing of time. Glancing up, Snape noticed a smaller boy sneaking a look through the bannisters, obviously interested but trying very hard not to be noticed. Damn. Warning sign number one.

“Not really a stranger, though, am I Tuney? It’s been a long time though, hasn’t it?”

Harry Potter watched in disbelief as the man Aunt Petunia would definitely term “undesirable” had the cheek to use a nickname for her.

“YOU. HOW DARE YOU SHOW UP HERE. YOU SHOULD’VE DIED WITH HER!”

He flinched but met her fury. “I would’ve died for her in a heartbeat, Petunia. Life seldom works the way we want it to. You, of all people, know that. I’ve come to take Mr. Potter for his school supplies. Would you like to introduce us?”

He has had time to scan the hall and the lounge. Plenty of photos of Dudley but not one of Harry. Warning sign number two.

“BOY! GET DOWN HERE NOW!”

Three and four are immediately chalked off of his list. Albus was right to send him here. He feels sick. Why had no-one been checking on the boy?

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Seated in the lounge, Severus Snape waits impatiently while Petunia shoos Dudley up to his room. He is working hard controlling his fury at what has happened to Lily’s child. He looks up at Harry Potter, standing in front of him, his posture a mixture of anxiety and defiance. The boy was carefully studying his scuffed trainers. The oversized clothes were as bad as anything the potions master had worn as a child. “Oh, dear Merlin. Where to begin?” Snape muttered.

“Harry, look at me please?”

Lily’s green eyes shine out of James’ face.

“Sorry about the drama, I couldn’t resist teasing your aunt a little.”

The boy winced, doubtless thinking he would pay for that teasing later.

“I’m Professor Snape, I will be one of your teachers when you come to Hogwarts. I knew your mother and aunt when we were children.”

Now he had the boy’s attention.

“I’m sure you are tired of hearing it but you really are the image of your parents. Your father’s face and your mother’s eyes.”

“Really, sir? I wish I remembered them.”

“Really. I will find you some photos later. Now we have lots to do today, so we need to get going but I just need to check first that you are well enough for a strenuous day out.”

“What does strenuous mean, sir?”

“Requiring a great deal of energy or effort, Mr. Potter.”

“Oh yes, sir, I do the gardening and cleaning, so I can do that.”

Snape would have to be deaf not to hear the alarm bells going off. He fights down the urge to use legilimency. This will be by the book.

“I know you’ve been told you are a wizard Harry, but do you know anything about how magic works or how we use it?”

Harry shakes his head, flinching again as Petunia hisses at the use of the “M” word.

Snape slips his wand out of the pocket he had added down the seam of his jeans and lets Harry see it. He casts a simple ‘lumos’ and lets the boy look at the result. “I’m just going to cast some spells on you to check how you are doing.” Virtually no-one at Hogwarts would recognise this Severus Snape. He is handling the boy very gently, aware of the fight or flight responses and the tension in his spine where he can feel his aunt glaring at him.

The medical diagnostic spells are a mixture of knowledge from his potions mastery, field medicine from the Voldemort war and some of Poppy’s custom charms that she taught him when he asked her about dealing with the more difficult child welfare cases he saw as Head of Slytherin.

Harry watches the wand waving curiously, squeaking slightly when one of the health monitors is applied. Severus has been told that it tickles, so he is unsurprised. The fear that crosses the boy’s face over the noise he made, is displeasing, however.

As the last of the spells complete, a glowing parchment drops into his lap. He glances down it quickly. Nothing he hadn’t started to suspect but nothing good. Sustained, systemic abuse. Probably since the day he had been left there. Under-sized, malnourished, a series of healed fractures to ribs, arms and hands. The glasses were the wrong prescription and the extensive bruising he sported matched fists rather than accidental impacts. He re-enforced his occlumency shields before he became guilty of a burst of accidental magic.

On the other hand, no current issues to prevent today’s excursion, although it would be slow going with several stops for food, drink and rest.

The boy was looking at him nervously.

“Nothing to worry about, although I will be having a chat with your Aunt and Uncle when we get back.” Harry flinched again. The words had been softly spoken but they carried intent and Petunia started blustering.

“Later, Tuney, Harry and I have more important things to be doing right now. Come along Mr. Potter…”

And Harry Potter followed Professor Snape out of the front door of 4, Privet Drive.


	2. Pit Stop at "The Greasy Spoon"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Severus, talk, eat and play video games (well, boys will be boys).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The World of Harry Potter is the creation and property of J. K. Rowling. This work is for entertainment only, I've never been able to persuade anyone to pay me to write.
> 
> The boys wanted to talk. It got a bit slow in places but they will get to Diagon Alley next time ...

Severus Snape strode away from Privet Drive, projecting a confidence he did not feel. The boy knew absolutely nothing of his family or the wizarding world.

He could be a coward and take the easy option. He could just take the boy to Diagon Alley, complete the required shopping and have him back with the Dursleys by early afternoon.

Allowing for a couple of hours to intimidate the recalcitrant relatives into submission, he could be eating dinner in the Great Hall with an unpleasant duty behind him and no obligation apart from another set of monitoring charms that would pull him from his sleep regularly between now and the first of September.

But that would not be enough. And yes, it was partly because it was “the Great Harry Potter”, the boy-who-lived. And no, there was no way this mess could be considered the boy’s fault. Lily’s son was going to need more than an afternoon’s shopping to survive the transition to the wizarding world.

In one month, Harry Potter would board the Hogwarts Express and find himself in the cauldron of the wizarding Britain where everyone thought they knew more about him than he knew about himself and at the moment that was true.

Merlin help him. One month to take the boy through a crash course in wizarding customs, politics, and history, the branches of magic and the importance of his choices at Hogwarts while trying to support his recovery from abuse … and he wasn’t actually meant to communicate with him after today. 

His stride faltered. Catching his breath, he forced himself on. He was a substitute. This had been Hagrid’s job. As much as Severus liked the amiable half-giant, he could only think with horror as to what impressions the boy would’ve received if he had been the only contact Harry had with wizards before Hogwarts. What the hell was Dumbledore thinking?

Sighing, Severus turned to the boy who walked silently, eyes down beside him and made two resolutions; to accompany Minerva inducting some of the muggleborns, this year if possible, next year for certain, and that Harry’s recovery and long-term well-being were his primary concern for the foreseeable future.

“Mr. Potter, we do have to go shopping today. However, we need to talk far more urgently. Are you hungry?”

The look he received in return was cautious but hopeful.

“Is there a café or perhaps a fish and chip shop around here you could recommend?”

“Umm, there’s the precinct but Dudley and his friends hang out there, sir.”

“No. That would not be a good idea. We wouldn’t want anything to get back to your Aunt would we, Mr. Potter?”

“No, sir.” And there was real feeling behind that reply.

“Hold on to me tightly, Mr. Potter.” And with a glance over his shoulder to check for observers, Severus Snape apparated away from Privet Drive.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“This place is a bit of a dump.” Snape found himself apologising to the boy. “But I grew up here, and I know where we can find a decent meal …”

“Where are we, sir?”

“Cokeworth, the Midlands.” He watched as the boy screws up his face in confusion, trying to rationalize the journey from Surrey to his current location.

“How did we get here?”

“Magic.” And Severus Snape is shocked to find that it is still magic to see that look of wonder on a child’s face.

“Aunt Petunia doesn’t let us use that word.”

“Aunt Petunia cannot shape reality to her wishes. Witches and wizards can.” He smirked and Harry smiled tentatively in return.

Snape pushed open the door of “The Greasy Spoon” and ushered Harry over to a table in the smoking section subtly casting a range of privacy charms around them. When he was growing up this place had been a biker hangout. It was a little cleaner these days but still nothing much to look at. Habit had led him to take a seat with his back to the wall, a view of the street and all entrances and exits.

“What would you like to eat and drink? I can recommend the all-day breakfast.” He isn’t used to entertaining, even an eleven-year-old.

“Could I have a coke please? Breakfast sounds great, thank you sir.”

“Two breakfasts, a coffee and coke please, luv?” The professor calls to the waitress.

“That’ll be ten minutes, OK?” She gets a terse nod in reply.

“Mr. Potter, am I correct in surmising that you know nothing of either the wizarding world or your family?”

“Yes, sir.”

Severus rubbed his hands tiredly over his face. “I confess, I am not sure where to begin. I often spend time with students who have ‘difficult’ home lives, but rarely with those who have no knowledge of the magical world at all.”

He looked thoughtful. “Harry, would you tell me about yourself? What is your favourite subject at school, what hobbies to you have? Just be honest.”

“Me, sir? There’s nothing interesting about me.”

Nothing interesting? The boy-who-lived. Merlin help him. “Yes, you, Mr. Potter.”

He watched as the boy screwed his face up in concentration, trying to work out what to say. “I’m Harry, I’m eleven. I live with Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and their son Dudley. They don’t like me because I’m a wizard. My bedroom used to be the cupboard under the stairs, but I was given Dudley’s second bedroom after my Hogwarts letter arrived. I like school but I get into trouble if my grades are better than Dudley’s, I don’t really have a favourite subject. I like gardening, that’s my favourite chore. I don’t really have any hobbies.”

Choking down a mixture of horror and fury at the boy’s summary of his life, Severus nodded quietly and said, “thank you, Harry. Now, if I may, I will tell you how the wizarding world sees you. You are the only son of James Potter, whose magical family can be traced back at least a dozen generations. Your mother was Lily Evans, a muggleborn witch of great talent. You are famous among wizards because on Halloween 1981 your family was attacked by a dark wizard, think of him as a terrorist like those in Ireland that you hear about on the news. Your parents were killed but the dark wizard disappeared and has not bothered the wizarding world from that day to this.”

The boy was looking at him open mouthed.

“That is where your scar came from.” He brushed his fingers gently across the boy’s forehead.

“Here is your first test, Harry. What can you learn from your description of yourself and mine.”

Harry gulped. What was the Professor looking for? “I … I … Hang on, I don’t know anything about the magical world but they don’t know anything about me, either, do they? They don’t even know what happened to that dark wizard.”

It may have been a shark-like grin, but Severus Snape was definitely smiling. “Well done, Harry. You have hit on a very important truth. The wizarding world sees you as some kind of warrior-child or saviour but they don’t know the real you.” Snape paused. “That’s a good start but do you understand what it means?”

He got an immediate shake of the head in return.

“I'm afraid it means your life will never be easy. Every time you go out in public people will be watching and they will talk about what they see.” The boy looked terrified. “You are young and you will make mistakes but people are unforgiving, so you can’t afford to make too many.”

“How do I avoid making mistakes?”

Snape thought for a moment. “Always stay calm. Always be polite, although you have been so far, so that shouldn’t be a problem. Listen, don’t talk. If people ask your opinion, ask them what they think about it or say you have been living in the muggle world and weren’t aware of the issue. Work out answers for the mundane questions you keep getting asked and stick to them.”

“Identify people you can trust and listen to them. Always keep a little bit of your life that's just for you. Listen to what the idiots in the general population are saying but make your own decisions. Remind yourself of those three things every day.”

“Don’t worry about it, Harry. I won’t lie and say that it won’t affect your life but you will learn how to deal with it in time.”

That was a lot to take in at one time and Harry was starting to look overwhelmed, so It was probably a good thing that the waitress turned up with their food at that point.

"I hope I haven't put you off of your lunch." Serverus said. He needn't have worried. Harry took one look at the plate of bacon, eggs and hash browns and dived in.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry had pushed his plate away, looking longingly at the remaining food but unable to eat a single thing more.

“Don’t worry about it. You did very well considering how little you are normally given to eat.”

“I hate to waste it. It would do me for dinner.”

“Don’t worry about your food situation. I will resolve that tonight. Do you mind if I smoke?” Harry shook his head. Severus felt guilty but he definitely deserved a cigarette for getting through the first half of the day. “Dreadful muggle habit, you won’t find many wizards who smoke, but being back here makes we want to, I’m afraid. Now, do you feel up to continuing our conversation from earlier?”

Harry nodded cautiously, sipping his Coke.

“I was unfair really, putting you on the spot like that. So, now’s your chance to get your own back: What do you know about me?”

Harry reviewed the crowded morning hastily. “You’re a Potions Master, you teach at Hogwarts. I don’t know if that is one thing or two. You knew my Mum and grew up in the muggle world, like her. You don’t have a very high opinion of most other wizards but spend time trying to help kids like me.”

“Nothing wrong with your memory or observational skills. Good. Now. That is not how I appear in the wizarding world. Most people will tell you I am only marginally less evil than the wizard that killed your parents. Hogwarts' students do not like me and most people will avoid me if they can. Most would assume I have never met a muggle. Just as you will find that “Harry” only exists in private and you must be “The-Boy-Who-Lived” in public, Severus, with his all-day breakfast, band t-shirts and cigarettes does not exist in the wizarding world. To them, I am dread Potions Master Snape.”

“Hey, that’s from ‘The Princess Bride’ isn’t it?”

“That’s what you take away from …?” Snape looks at him not sure whether to laugh or snarl at the boy. It was good to find a shared cultural reference, but really.

“No. I get it. No matter who we are in private, in public we play a part.” 

Snape is pleased but cannot help but flinch. An eleven-year-old shouldn’t get it. “Precisely. I will make sure you can always get in touch with me privately, whether in the wizarding or muggle world, but as far as the rest of the world is concerned, I am taking you to Diagon Alley because the Headmaster ordered me to. I am your least popular teacher and nothing else.”

Harry was looking overwhelmed. “Enough talking for now. I’ve made your head spin, haven’t I? We need to stop at my house on the way to Diagon Alley.”

For the first time, he realises that he doesn’t have Harry’s full attention. The boy is looking wistfully at the video arcade game on the other side of the café.

“Do you play video games, Harry?”

“No, I never have any money. Dudley plays them, I just wondered what it was like.”

“Like almost everything we find enjoyable, a little is good, too much is bad. Do you want to give it a try on our way out?”

Normally he wouldn’t have even considered this but Harry Potter had behaved well and even shown signs of coming out of his shell. He deserved a reward. The boy had clearly rarely been indulged in anything.

“Please?” This day was getting better and better as far as Harry was concerned.

“Very well. I’m not sure I’ll know what I’m doing. Arcade games have changed since I was young.”

Snape stood up, unfolding his legs and stretching. He noticed that Harry had already stacked the plates and nodded approvingly. 

He thanked the waitress on the way out and dropped a pound into the tip saucer.

Standing in front of Street Fighter II, he fished 30 pence out of his jeans pocket. “You take the left, I’ll take the right. Joystick to move, buttons to punch and kick, yes?”

The café was filled with the sound of tinny music and the frantic clicking of buttons. Ninety seconds later it was all over and both wizards were squinting at the screen trying to work out who had won. Severus glanced down at his charge and realized that it was the first time the boy had looked like a child, eyes alight and expression eager.

“Cool. Thanks.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Potter.”


	3. A-Shopping we will go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus and Harry finally make it to Diagon Alley ... they would still rather talk than shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The World of Harry Potter is the creation and property of J. K. Rowling. This work is for entertainment only, I've never been able to persuade anyone to pay me to write.

“Right, Mr. Potter. Welcome to my humble home. I’m here four days a year, so the spiders have more invested in this place than I do.” Snape is sneering but he is painfully aware of how run down the place is, inside and out. He does keep it clean and vermin free but that’s about it. The fittings are worn and dated, the wallpaper faded and starting to peel where damp has come in around the back door.

Harry, who was trying (and failing) to be subtle as he glanced around, nodded. “I like spiders. I used to have to share the cupboard with them but they never bit me or anything, so that was OK.”

Snape’s eyebrow lifted. Share the cupboard. File that away for later. There was something worse ahead today, so the past would have to wait. “We are men, Mr. Potter and therefore we hate shopping, am I right?”

Painful memories of trailing after Aunt Petunia as she shopped for “Dudders” and carrying too-heavy bags of groceries back to the car meant that he couldn’t disagree with the Professor.

“Do you have your supply list for Hogwarts?”

Harry pulled a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it over awkwardly.

Snape glanced down the list. “Is this all they are sending out these days, Mr. Potter?”

“It’s all I have but my Uncle threw so many of the letters away, perhaps something went missing?”

Severus reached into the messenger bag that was still strung across his body. Among the papers Minerva had given him, was there anything else that related to school supplies for muggleborns? If the boy turned up with just what was on this list he would never survive.

Eventually, he unearthed a supplementary reading list, a suggested clothing list and a list of forbidden items. “Why on earth aren’t these sent to everyone,” he grumbled under his breath. “I can’t believe we’re that short of parchment.”

He spread the documents out across the kitchen counter and studied them intently.

“Don’t hover, lad. Sit down and help me draw up a battle plan.”

“Sir?” Harry had tentatively perched on the kitchen chair and squinted at the lists.

His teaching instincts kicking in instantly, Snape frowned at him. “Mr. Potter, when did you last have your eyes tested?”

Harry looked up at him blinking. “Four or five years ago, sir.”

“We’ll add a visit to the optician to the list for today, then. Right. We need to get all the things on two of these lists today. Plus, a visit to Gringotts – that’s the wizarding bank – so you can pay for everything. There are also other items you will need that are not here at all.” He tapped one long finger against the parchment. “You are famous in the wizarding world, so we will have to be prepared to stop and make introductions to any number of people, hopefully a few of them will be too scared of me to approach you… How would you recommend we do this?”

“Me?”

“You, Mr. Potter. Consider this your second test.”

Harry screwed up his face in thought. Tapping one foot nervously as he tried to get his ideas in order.

“There’s a lot to do, isn’t there. Aunt Petunia sometimes buys this “mail order”, she rings someone up and the stuff is delivered a few days later. Can we do any of that this was?”

“Good thinking. Yes, some things can be done that way. However, I do not think your Aunt would be keen on lots of delivery owls showing up, so that might not be our best option. Try again.”

Harry struggled to come up with anything else and was starting to get anxious about taking too long to answer. “I don’t know, sir.”

“Well, we have magic.” Snape said. “One of the biggest delays will be getting you through crowds of well-wishers, so we do as much of your shopping as possible without people realising it is you.”

“I don’t like crowds much, sir. Do we have to go?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter. Everyone has to do things they do not want to and the sooner you start dealing with the idiocy that is the wizarding world, the sooner you will become proficient at it.”

“So, for which of these purchases do you need to be Harry Potter? You will have to be yourself going to Gringotts, the goblins would take a very dim view of any attempted deception. Your wand is personal to you and robes are made to measure, so it will not help if you are not yourself in every detail. The same applies to the optician but I think we will use a muggle one this time. Otherwise, your identity is irrelevant to the shopkeepers of Diagon Alley. They are only interested in your money. We will also need to visit muggle London to get you some ordinary clothes.” He mused.

If Harry was honest he would rather have stayed in this tatty little house and talked but apparently shopping had to be done.

“In the two minutes we can spare before we leave, I must try to prepare you for meeting wizards en masse for the first time. I confess I am struggling to know how to do this. Think of it as an alternate reality. Wizards and muggles occupy the same space at the same time but are almost completely detached from each other. Now and then the two meet and the results are seldom good.” He genuinely looked uncertain.

“We will need to alter our clothes before we leave so that we are dressed in a suitable manner for wizards. Younger wizards wear shirts and trousers with an open robe over the top unless they are very wealthy. Any child wearing a full robe, be polite they will be wealthy and self-important. Boots or shoes but not trainers. Older wizards might wear full or formal robes and both wizards and witches wear hats. Everyone will no doubt look very strange to you, please remember not to stare.”

While he had been speaking, Snape had stood up in the middle of the kitchen and demonstrated a variety of outfits for Harry, who had initially looked startled and intrigued but had eventually fallen to giggling at the rapidly shifting wardrobe, none of which really suited the tall man, although the expensive looking formal robes did look nice.

“You need to get that out of your system, Mr. Potter.”

“Sorry, Sir, it’s just, they really didn’t suit you. What do you normally wear?”

One more flick of the wand and he was clad in his normal teaching robes.

“Now that seems more you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Potter. My life would not be complete without your approbation of my sartorial choices.”

Harry took a few seconds to work out what the Professor meant. He grinned. “Do all wizards talk like you, sir?”

“And how do I talk, Mr. Potter?” The tone was silky and dangerous.

“Like someone from a history book, sir.”

Severus paused. How much more could the boy absorb before he became overwhelmed? They really did need to go shopping but the temptation to try to influence this child was great. There were risks and rewards, but more than that there were dangers if someone else started whispering in his ears first. He could also see the potential for a great deal of cheek and spirit once the boy recovered from his relatives’ poor treatment.

“Words are tools and weapons, Mr. Potter. I believe you have also heard me swear and use slang today. All those words are part of who I am. We are back to masks and public personae again.” He chuckled. “There comes a time in every teenager’s life when their vocabulary consists solely of “no”, “I don’t wanna” and “ugh” but the more you read and learn, the more power you will have at your disposal when you outgrow that despicable phase.”

Unfortunately, Harry could imagine the Professor as a surly teenager only too well and it showed on his face.

“Watch that cheek, mister. Now, we do need to go shopping. I will disguise you so that you can have your first experience of Diagon Alley in peace, then we will brave the muggle world and then finally you will need to face your adoring public.” The shudder that accompanied the last statement was not feigned.

Severus transfigured a tea tray into a mirror and leant it up against the kitchen wall so that Harry could see what he was doing.

“Sit still, Mr. Potter. I wouldn’t want to turn you into a frog by mistake!”

Harry couldn’t quite suppress a gulp and gave up trying to examine the tea tray turned mirror and sat up straight.

“Hmm. Lighten the hair, I think. Hazel eyes. That will be less noticeable. Cover the scar of course. How does that look?”

“Nothing like me, Professor.”

One final flick of his wand and Harry was dressed in plain but new-looking black trousers, a long-sleeved T-shirt, a lightweight jacket and soft, black leather shoes.

“Good, it should do then. Off we go.”

Snape led the way out of the house showed Harry to a sheltered spot at the back of the row. “We mustn’t let people who do not know about magic see us doing it, so when we need to apparate we have to find a concealed location to leave from and know a concealed location to arrive at.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to leave from inside the house?”

“Yes, but then anyone who knew the house could arrive without permission or warning.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed. I am over-simplifying that, Harry, but for security reasons, most wizards do not allow apparation inside their own home. Hold on tight.”

They pop back into existence in the grubby alley next to The Leaky Cauldron.

“Will that always make me feel sick?” Harry had gone rather green.

“You will adapt in time. It is no different to the fact that some people get sick in buses or cars.”

Severus Snape would be the first to admit that ten years of relative peace had made him softer than he would like but he had already taken a good look at who was in the vicinity. He made another more obvious sweep, making sure Harry understood, and then bent down until he was on the boy’s level.

“We did not arrange a name for me to call you before we left. I would apologise but I’m afraid it is deliberate. If I need to get your attention, I will call you ‘boy’.”

Harry flinched.

“I’m sorry, I understand it is what your uncle calls you, but until I know how good you are at maintaining a cover, I need to use a ‘name’ you will respond to.”

Harry nodded reluctantly.

“For as long as it takes to get your shopping, you will be dealing with Professor Snape. Again, I would apologise but you need to get used to my public face. Remember, that is all it is, one of the masks I wear.”

Another nod.

“Keep your eyes and wits about you but keep your questions until we are away from here. Understand?”

Severus stood. Harry’s eyes widened as he watched his friend from the café transform into a dour, stiff, formal adult who seemed at least a decade older than he had previously. The sneer on his lips, the set of his shoulders, the sharp hand gestures that fell into place within seconds.

“Ready, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“First, luggage. We have lots of things to buy, so we need something to put our purchases in.”

The tiny shop was stacked high with cabin trunks. The shopkeeper, a kind-looking, portly, middle-aged wizard, looked up as they entered.

“Snape.” His voice was not warm. Professional but guarded. Harry wondered if that was what the professor had meant when he said people avoided him.

“New student for Hogwarts. Need a trunk. High security, blood-keyed. Just three chambers, I think. He’s too young to be brewing alone but one room needs proper venting. Library, gym and storage for now. One of the models that can be reconfigured and added to if required. Need a book-bag too, same security, locator-spell, anti-cutting charms. Featherweight and bottomless. Seven-year guarantee on the charms. Something plain that will take decoration when he’s decided what he wants.”

Harry blinked. The shopkeeper had just nodded, so apparently the extremely rapid string of words did mean something. He took out his wand and summoned a light-blue leather trunk with metal corners. It re-sized as it floated towards them until it fitted neatly on the counter.

“Certainly, Professor. I just need a few drops of your blood, young man, to activate the trunk and link it to you. Press your thumb on the rim, here.” A test-tube with a jagged edge is held under Harry’s nose.

Harry didn’t feel particularly eager to be stabbed with broken glass and looked up at Snape.

“Well done, boy. Your caution is admirable. For the record, never give blood, spit or any other bodily fluid or body part willingly. Where it is required make sure that you know why and that it is used immediately and in front of you. Magic done with such things is both common and dangerous. Most wizards are unbelievably careless in these matters.”

The glint in his eye as he turned to the shopkeeper caused the man to pale and remove the test-tube. “And pray tell, does the blood only affect the lock on this trunk or have you keyed it to the rest of the charms?”

“One for everything, sir. If you want blood-locking only, you’ll need the more expensive model.”

“We need blood-locking only. Thank you. Did you not hear me tell the boy he could chose how to decorate his possessions later?”

The blue trunk was banished back to the shelf and replaced by a sturdier looking model in chestnut leather with polished wooden corners, raised struts top and bottom for protection and retractable legs at each corner.

“Where is the lock?” Snape bit out at the shopkeeper.

“Front left corner, sir.”

Severus drew his wand and held out his hand. Harry obediently mirrored him only to squeak, “ouch.” When Severus tapped his wand against his thumb and drew blood. Severus gently pressed the thumb into the corner of the trunk, which glowed, shifted and settled, acknowledging its new owner.

Severus healed the cut and looked at Harry. “Don’t worry, you won’t need to bleed all over it every time you want to open it. There are leaflets with it that will show you all the features but essentially when you gave it a bit of blood, you gave it a bit of your magic and that it what it will use to recognise you.”

The trunk was shrunk to the size of a pencil case and placed inside the messenger bag, which Harry slung across his body in imitation of Snape. Snape paid the bill and they made their way to the next shop. The telescope and scales and glass phials are quickly acquired. Snape explains that crystal ones are not needed before fourth year. He is very picky over the cauldrons, grumbling about the standard of manufacture but spends longest over the potions kit.

“You don’t need ingredients, as a first year everything you use will come from stores. However, your kit will last you at least five years, so as with your trunk and book-bag, you need quality.” He chose a leather, Gladstone bag-style kit, explaining that more phials, tools and ingredients jars could be added later. “The most important things are your knives. The way you prepare ingredients has a massive impact on how well your potions will work.”

He gestures sharply to the young shop assistant. “I need a cutting mat, a selection of knives and some bay, lavender and ginger, please.”

Severus sets up on the counter, ignoring the stares of other customers. He demonstrates cutting the lavender stalks. “You try.”

The blades don’t resemble the kitchen knives Harry is used to and feeling unexpectedly clumsy, he chooses a light scalpel and imitates the professor.

Snape watches intently. “No. Try this one.” He hands over a heavier blade with a straight handle.

Harry is surprised at how much difference the knife makes. Snape is still watching.

“Not quite. Try this one.”

Harry tries again, this is a lighter blade with the balance further back into the hilt. He cuts the stalks evenly and briskly almost without thinking.

“Good.” Snape replaces the lavender with the ginger and hands Harry the heavier version of the same knife. “Just to confirm it, try to slice that thinly.”

Again, the knife does the job effortlessly. “We’ll take the Italian knives. Add the cost of the ingredients to the bill.”

They have drawn quite a crowd. “Excuse me, please?” A woman interrupted. “How do we know which knives to buy for our children?” She is well-dressed and confident but obviously a muggle. Her son, equally smart in appearance, stands beside her wide-eyed.

“Madam, Mr. Jiggers will be delighted to help you I’m sure.” The apothecary owner who had come from the backroom to see what his best (and worst) customer was doing, nodded happily.

Snape firmly took hold of Harry’s shoulder and hustled him out of the shop. The boy looks up at him with gratitude. “If you think that was bad be glad you weren’t doing that as ‘Harry’.” He hissed.

Snape looked at his watch and groaned, it was nearly two p.m. already. “Just the bookshop, then we’ll duck back to muggle London for a quick lunch followed by muggle clothes and your glasses.”

Harry grinned. The professor was on the warpath now. He marched straight up to the register and handed the supply list to the clerk. “One set of first year books and one set of supplementary books, please. I have a few more titles to add. Have these ready in five minutes.”

“Over here, boy.” Snape pulled Harry into an alcove. “Extra reading. You need to do it. You also need to read critically. Not all books have the same value. He is scanning down a section on wizarding Britain pulling volume after volume. Harry is amused by the fact that as a copy is removed, another pops into its place. “Basic stock management charm,” Snape murmurs.

“Law, etiquette, history, Harry Potter – look you need to know what other people assume they know about you, other wizarding cultures, hmm, the Fogg is out of date, we’ll ask the clerk. I suppose you better have a copy of this wretched “Wizarding Britain” text. The ministry keeps pushing it but it is utter rubbish.”

They ask the clerk about world wizarding cultures. He tries to sell them the Fogg. Eventually, a young woman in auror robes interrupts. “Try the new Palin, “Global Wand-errings”. It’s a lightweight but well-written overview.”

Snape cocks an eyebrow at the clerk, who summons a copy. He flicks through, checking a few paragraphs here and there before adding it to the pile. “Thank you, Madam.”

Books paid for they are almost back to The Leaky Cauldron when Snape snarls an obscenity and does a one-eighty. “You need parchment, quills and ink, journals and goodness knows what else. Back to Scribbulus’.”

Harry follows hard on his heels, trying to ignore the rumbling in his stomach. They’d nearly made it to the promised lunch. He doesn’t mind quite so much when he takes in the exotic feathers and coloured ink and delicately scrolling parchment in the shop window.

Snape piles up a basket of quills, ink and parchment, then calls Harry over to look as some bound notebooks. “Journals are very useful. When you are older, it may be for research projects or revision. For now, I would recommend you choose two, one to keep as a diary and one whatever else you wish to keep secure. Journals have privacy spells which most pieces of parchment do not.”

Harry picks a plain black diary. It has useful built-in charms to expand and contract date headings as required. For his second book, he hesitates for a while before choosing a neat brown leather notebook. It alternates lined with plain pages. He has always liked drawing. Maybe it would be good to do more.

“Thank you, sir.”

On the way back to The Leaky Cauldron, Harry gazes longingly at the Quidditch Supplies Shop. Growling under his breath, Snape promises he will be able to visit it when they return.

Finally, finally, they escape to muggle London.


	4. Pret-a-Porter versus Couture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunch, Shopping and Malfoy. What more could Harry want?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The World of Harry Potter is the creation and property of J. K. Rowling. This work is for entertainment only, I've never been able to persuade anyone to pay me to write.
> 
> I expected this to run longer. Draco wasn't feeling talkative.

Back in muggle London, the noise and fumes of the traffic on Charing Cross Road are an assault on the senses.

“Come along, boy,” barks Severus. “It gets worse before it gets better.”

He sets a brisk pace, catching at Harry’s hand or shoulder as they cross streets and slip between the stationary cars. They walk for a few minutes and at every turn Severus peels away a bit more of the glamour Harry is wearing. They pass a large building with white façade on the left. “That’s ‘The British Museum’. Worth a visit in the winter. Too crowded today.” Snape tells him.

A couple of junctions later they step into a small park. There is a café on one side and a fountain in the centre. It couldn’t be called peaceful but it does cushion them from the bustle of London. The glamour is completely gone and Harry is Harry Potter once more.

“What would you like to eat?”

“Could I have the ploughman’s, please?”

Snape choses a chicken salad and orders himself a coffee while setting orange juice in front of Harry.

“Well, we just about survived the first round. Well done, Harry.”

“Thank you, sir.” It comes out rather muffled by the sandwich and Severus finds himself biting back a snort.

But Severus now finds himself at a loss. Flummoxed and discombobulated. He brought Harry here, away from the shops because he wanted to talk and talk about difficult, personal things but now they’re here, he’d rather face a cruciatus or two. So, he takes the coward’s way out and puts the ball in Harry’s court. “Do you have any questions, so far?”

Harry has hundreds of questions but they are tumbling around his brain so fast he can’t actually catch any of them and get them out of his mouth. He nods frantically.

Severus waits… 

“Why do wizards write with quills? It looks really awkward.”

“It takes practice, Harry, and that is something you should do every day between now and September. The reasons for it are quite complex, although most wizards and witches will tell you it is traditional and leave it at that, but it all comes down to the nature of magic.”

He pauses, trying to work out how to explain this piece of magical theory. “Those people who have magic, it permeates every corner of their lives. When you keyed your trunk to you, you used a tiny bit of your magic. When you write, your words are infused with a really miniscule amount of magic. It is not something you run out of – if you cast a very powerful spell you would feel drained for a while – but over time your magic replenishes itself.”

“Magic reacts differently to different materials. Parchment, vellum and papyrus all handle magic well. Specially made magical paper – it has to be done by hand – is also good. Muggle-made paper, you can write on it but it does not take magic well. Even if you are careful, it will tear or disintegrate in a few months. I believe it is due to all the chemicals they use in the manufacturing process.”

“Quills are the same. They are a fully natural material and handle magic well. Steel nibs for quills or steel pens work if your magic is compatible with the metal. Some wizards can only use gold or silver. They are only made into nibs because a completely gold or silver pen would be so expensive. Muggle pens are made of lots of different materials, including plastics, and magic and plastics are rarely happy bedfellows. Again, it is believed it is the processing that goes into their manufacture that is to blame. Although,” he is actually speculating magical theory at an eleven-year-old, “I wonder if it is not their composite nature that is the problem.”

“There are a wide variety of magical inks,” Severus was warming to his subject. “Some are spelled to write in different colours depending on your mood, or to be visible at certain times of the month or in a specific light, others are spelled against cheating and you have to use them for exams. Very occasionally you will have to sign in blood for legal documents. The point is that from your hand to the paper there needs to be an unbroken chain of materials that are conducive to magic. Quill, ink and parchment are the best affordable combination.”

Harry loves the complexity the professor is describing and the way his eyes light up when he talks about magic. “What about drawing things?”

Severus had noticed the journal with unlined pages. Lily had loved to draw, although she rarely bothered with magical drawings. “You can get brushes and paints along the same lines as the quills and ink. If you’re interested we can brave Scribbulus’ again later and pick you up some basic art supplies. If you want to make your pictures move, you need to speak to Professor Flitwick, he teaches charms. That was one of your mother’s favourite subjects.” He hopes the boy will take the opening. They need to get some of the difficult discussions out of the way. Putting things off will only cause a sense of betrayal.

“What were they like, my Mum and Dad?”

He prevaricates, “Mr. Potter, we will not have time to discuss everything today. I will visit approximately once a week throughout August which will give us more opportunity to discuss both personal and general topics. I will make a deal with you. You talk honestly about your childhood and do the reading I set and I will answer questions.” He paused. “There are some things I cannot tell you and others that I will irritate you with by asking you to wait until you are older. Anything I tell you will be the truth to the best of my knowledge. Is that acceptable?”

Harry considered. “You know every kid hates being told, ‘we’ll tell you when you’re older’?”

“Yes, but your parents grew up during and fought in a war. There are things that happened that I will not tell an eleven-year-old about. Things that give me nightmares a decade later.”

That makes Harry stop and think. There are things out there that are so bad that this man dreams about them? From what he’s seen so far, Professor Snape dominates every room he’s in and backs down from no-one. What could scare him?

Severus returns to the original question with a touch of reticence. “To satisfy your curiosity for now, your mother was my best friend growing up. We fell out later. Typical teenagers, I suppose, but I miss her every day.”

“What did you fall out over?”

“The morality of relativism.”

“Huh?”

“The correct response, Mr. Potter, would be ‘What’s that Professor Snape?’.”

Harry isn’t sure yet, but he’s good a reading people and the uptick at the corner of Snape’s mouth suggests he’s at least partly joking. Better safe than sorry. “Sorry, sir.”

“Harry, I suspect there have been times in your life when you have been hungry?” The boy’s face is flushed, the nod imperceptible. “And times when you have helped yourself to food, in that situation?” Another nod. Even more tentative. “My childhood was not dissimilar.” The relief at the lack of condemnation is blatant.

“Lily was a kind and generous person but she never wanted for anything. As a teenager, she had no concept of a hunger so sharp it would drive a person to steal. To her, theft was always wrong; there had to be a better solution. She matured, as did I. As an adult she would’ve understood the need to eat and I have accepted there are some things that can never be justified; principles you have to be prepared to die for rather than compromise.” 

Severus Snape took a deep breath finding the past still hurt more than he had anticipated. The boy is still listening attentively. Now for the difficult bit. “I am not the right person to tell you about your father, Harry. We were not close. The only thing we had in common was your mother. We were rivals and it was not a friendly rivalry.” Inspiration hit. “I will contact some of his old friends and ask if they will visit you but you must understand that he died young and was not the only casualty of the war.” Harry nodded but looked disappointed.

The sandwiches were gone. There was no excuse to delay further. “Once more unto the breach, Mr. Potter…”

Harry looked confused. “It’s Shakespeare – you’re probably a bit young for it at the moment. In this context, it means ‘back to the shops’!” Harry groaned.

The optician was on Tottenham Court Road, heading back in the direction of The Leaky Cauldron. Harry’s prescription had changed so two pairs of glasses were duly bought and delivery via the decidedly muggle Royal Mail arranged.

He queried the need for a second pair of glasses and Snape looked at him for a moment, weighing up how much to say. “You should always have a replacement on hand for anything that is important to you. I will be buying you two of some other items today as well. Besides, if you are as short-sighted as your father, if you lose your glasses, you will need glasses in order to find them!”

Clothes shopping meant an excursion up Oxford Street, which Harry would be quite happy never to repeat. Professor Snape moved through the crowds swiftly and elegantly. They parted in front of him and closed behind him like, well, magic. Harry was left ducking and diving trying to keep the tall figure in black in sight. Finally, they stopped outside Marks and Spencer.

“Test three, Harry!” Snape said with obvious amusement. “You kept up well.”

“Mr. Potter, I will issue a not-apology now. I am going to buy you a functional, basic, muggle wardrobe. It will be decent quality but not particularly fashionable. We do not have a lot of time, so if I offer you a choice, make it or I will. You will also hear the dreaded phrase ‘room to grow into it’. I know how loathsome this is, but you are too small for your age and you WILL grow this year if I have to give you potions every single day to achieve it. I recommend you spend this year learning what you do and don’t like in wizarding and muggle fashion. Remember it is possible to do the catalogue shopping you mentioned earlier in both worlds.”

By the time they were finished, Marks and Spencer’s children’s department may have looked normal but it had survived a tornado. Harry had never had new clothes like this in his life and was thrilled. The contrast between the two wizards became obvious in their choices of garment. All of Harry’s school clothes were neat, functional and monochrome. The choices he had been allowed for himself, pyjamas and weekend wear, were all bold and colourful. Severus had found himself conducting all the rituals he had been subjected to as a child – turning up the legs of trousers, checking the space between toe and shoe – things that he hadn’t thought about in twenty years. It felt uncomfortably paternal.

Severus looked at his watch again as they once more faced the crowds and the trek back to The Leaky Cauldron. “We don’t have time, Mr. Potter. Down here, please!” He indicated a narrow alley. Away from prying eyes he decanted all their purchases into Harry’s messenger bag. Running a hand through the boy’s hair proved useless in taming it, so he gave up as a bad job, it wasn’t as if he had an extensive repertoire of haircare charms.

“Mr. Potter. Are you ready for your return to the wizarding world?”

Harry gulped.

“You will be fine. Madam Malkin for you school robes, Gringotts to sort out the money and Ollivander’s to get your wand. In that order. Remember people will be watching what you do. Be careful and be polite.”

“Yes, sir.”

Harry feels the squeeze of apparition once more.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry hasn’t taken a dozen steps down Diagon Alley when he feels the eyes on him and the pool of silence that is spreading outwards with himself and the professor at its centre. He hesitates only to find the professor’s hand on his shoulder, reassuring him and keeping him moving. He doesn’t need to look back to know that Severus Snape has his most condescending sneer in place, daring anyone to approach them. It feels like an eternity but is less than a minute before they reach the purple door of Madam Malkin’s shop.

As they step inside, Harry exhales noisily. Only to be reminded that this is still ‘public’ by another gentle squeeze on the shoulder. “Am I really that recognizable, sir?”

“Your father’s face and your mother’s eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if there hasn’t been something in the Daily Prophet about your starting Hogwarts this year, too. Don’t let them get to you, Mr. Potter.”

“Potter!? Uncle Sev?!” The sharp exclamation has come from a boy his own age, perched on a low stool at the back of the shop. He is being fitted for robes and looks extremely frustrated that he cannot step forward and greet the newcomers properly.

“Professor Snape, please Draco. It is only a month until term starts and you don’t want me taking house points if you slip up at school?”

Draco looks appropriately horrified. “No, sir.”

Severus encourages Harry to move further into the shop with him. Harry looks Draco up and down. The severely slicked back blonde hair, the pointed chin and the delicate bone structure make him look even younger than Harry. “Mr. Potter, please may I introduce my godson, Mr. Draco Malfoy, Heir to House Malfoy. Draco, this is Mr. Harry Potter, Head-in-Waiting of House Potter.” Draco is now looking Harry up and down, eyes searching out the scar on his forehead.

“Mr. Potter has grown up with his mother’s family.” Harry is sure that conveys all kinds of meanings from godfather to godson but will worry about it later. “He is just now coming into our world for the first time.”

Draco looks horrified. It takes Harry a moment to realise that the other boy is not being condescending or insulting. He is genuinely shocked.

“Mr. Malfoy,” he’s sure to get this wrong but he wants to try. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise, Mr. Potter.”

So far, so good. Strangely, it is Draco who totally fails to contain himself. “You grew up with muggles? What was Dumbledore thinking?”

“Headmaster Dumbledore, Mr. Malfoy.” The correction is gentle but nonetheless real.

“Sorry, Professor. But really.”

“Who knows what the Headmaster was thinking, Mr. Malfoy? However, I would caution against asking.” Snape doubts anyone will ever get sense out of Dumbledore on the topic but it would be a political mis-step even to be heard asking. Then again, he cannot remember any time in recent years that any Slytherin has spoken to the Headmaster aside from disciplinary issues.

“So, Potter, what House do you think you’ll be in? I’m Slytherin for sure.” Draco is barely containing his enthusiasm.

Harry looks helplessly at the professor.

“Mr. Malfoy. So far, I have covered Mr. Potter’s immediate family history, wizarding dress and the more mundane items on the Hogwarts’ supply list. By the end of the day, I will have added wizarding currency, Gringotts and basics of wand-lore to Mr. Potter’s store of knowledge. At which point both he and I will require a headache potion and a day off to recover. I am yet to explain Hogwarts’ house system, points system or classes, wizarding history, custom and politics or how to actually get to the school. We are both aware how much he has to master by the start of the year.”

The blonde’s eyes are threatening to pop out of his head.

“The Professor is right, Mr. Malfoy. I would love the chance to talk with you but I honestly won’t be able to answer your questions. Perhaps we can talk once term has started?”

Draco nods grandly, accepting the offer as his due, and Madam Malkin, with the expert timing of many years of customer service, chooses that moment to interject: “You’re all done, Mr. Malfoy. I will owl everything to the manor as usual.”

“Yes, thank you, Madam Malkin.” He removes the robe and replaces it with a full length formal robe in grey velvet. His eyes are never far from Harry.

“Professor Snape, Mr. Potter.” Draco Malfoy gives a small, formal bow and glides away. The shop bell clangs as he closes the door behind him.

Harry looks wide-eyed at Professor Snape. “You did well, Harry. He is my godson and I love him but he is spoilt and no mistake. You have managed not to offend him and kept a door open for friendship. Does the advice I gave you earlier make better sense now?”

“Yes, Professor, but am I always going to feel this out of my depth?”

“You will know enough to survive by September the first. With luck and hard work, you will have caught up with your peers by the end of second year.” He will need to too, Severus reflects. Summer after second year he will be turning thirteen and as Head-in-Waiting he will have responsibilities.

Madam Malkin invites Harry to step up onto the stool and she sets about measuring and tailoring the robes for him. It is a peaceful, static way of shopping that comes as a relief. Harry will deny it with his last breath but he is getting tired. Today has been, what was that word Professor Snape had used? ‘Strenuous’, and it isn’t over yet. All too soon, Madam Malkin has completed her work. The Professor calmly arranges for his wizarding wardrobe to be owled to himself at Hogwarts, to avoid another confrontation with Petunia Dursley.

“Come along, Mr. Potter. Time for you to meet the Goblins. Every word I have said about politeness and manners counts double where Gringotts is concerned.”

Harry looks up at him. Thank you, Professor Snape. Like he wasn’t already nervous.


	5. Goblins and ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets the goblins, Severus takes on more responsibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The World of Harry Potter is the creation and property of J. K. Rowling. This work is for entertainment only, I've never been able to persuade anyone to pay me to write.
> 
> Well, this defeated me. This is the first part of what was meant to be a three-part chapter. It grew until it had squeezed out its siblings. The chapter title will make sense when the third part is published (I liked it too much to let it go).

Severus Snape had the beginnings of a headache. A faint pinching at the temples that he knew would leave him the choice of a headache potion or firewhisky (but not both) when he finally got back to Hogwarts that evening. He hoped the rest of the day would be incident free, then hoped he hadn’t jinxed both himself and Harry with the previous thought. 

He had to admit that the Potter boy had behaved much better than he had expected. Unfortunately, given that was due to the poor treatment by his relatives and given the flashes of personality showing through that they hadn’t managed to annihilate, there was always potential for problems and he could see Harry was tiring.

The visit to Gringotts was the part of the trip that he was least looking forward to. When he had left this morning, he had expected to find a boy who had grown up in luxury, who treated money as another toy, who would take the vaults with their collection of heirlooms and galleons, in his stride. A Potter who could not scrape together a few pounds of change for video games and went about dressed in his cousin’s over-sized cast-offs would either be angry at the wealth he had been denied or unwilling to deal with it and a public meltdown was to be avoided at all costs.

For his part, Harry was feeling his feet starting to drag. The stares that had followed him since he had entered Diagon Alley hadn’t abated and some of the whispers he was hearing behind his back were frankly terrifying. He looked up at the façade of Gringotts towering above him and insinuated his hand into the potions master’s in search of support.

“Come, Mr. Potter. Two more tasks and you can rest.” Snape is surprised by the boy’s actions but will do nothing to damage the trust that he is being given.

Inside the bank, Severus subtly steers him towards the second shortest queue. “It doesn’t always work,” he murmurs, “but there’s usually someone with a serious issue in the shortest queue.”

The teller barely looks up as they stand before him. Harry is working very hard at not staring at the goblin but he’s not sure how successful he is being. He’s is not sure whether he should say something but the decidedly impatient professor behind him seems content to wait, so he holds his peace.

“How rare to see you twice in one day, Professor Snape. How may Gringotts assist you?”

“Mr. Potter needs to meet with his account manager.” The reply is smooth and polite.

“And your business with the Potter accounts?” The goblin is not happy although Severus is struggling to remember any occasion when he might have given offence to this particular member of Gringotts' staff.

“I have paid for Mr. Potter’s school supplies, I wish to present the receipts for re-imbursement.”

Harry looks mortified. “I’m sorry, Professor, I didn’t think …”

“Do not concern yourself, Mr. Potter. It seemed easier than throwing you in the deep end with wizarding currency, you have had enough to take in today.” He turned back to the goblin. “He will also need enough galleons for his wand and spending money for his first year. There are other matters that I wish to address but perhaps that should be done in private?”

“Griphook, will you see if Skergold is available?” A smaller goblin scurries away into the bowels of the bank.

In less than a minute, he returns. “Manager Skergold will see you now. This way please.”

They are led down marbled corridors to a highly-polished wooden office door. Severus wishes he did not need to insert himself into Potter’s relationship with the goblins but given the state of Potter’s home life he has no confidence in the state of his finances and even without his vow to protect Lily’s son he would not be comfortable if he did not attempt to protect a student in such a situation.

They are seated. The account manager ignores Snape and addresses Harry. “Mr. Potter, it is good to see you. I am Skergold, I managed the Potter accounts for your parents and grandparents. How may I help you?”

Harry looks to the professor who shakes his head and indicates that he should speak to Skergold.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Skergold. My name is Harry. Professor Snape has taken me shopping today for all the things I need to go to Hogwarts. I need to pay him back for those things and I guess, I need to understand what my financial situation is. Can I afford to pay for all of the things I will need for Hogwarts? I’ll need to be at school for at least five years, won’t I?”

“Has your magical guardian not explained things to you?” Skergold is still looking askance at Snape but he is beginning to understand the wizard’s insistence on being present.

Again, Harry looks at the professor. “I have a magical guardian? No-one in my family has magic. Professor Snape is the first magical person I have met.”

Skergold is deep in thought. The Potter accounts are more or less dormant. The boy’s magical guardian is not maintaining them properly and that is truly criminal as far as a goblin is concerned. Snape has always been honest in his dealings with the bank and more than one of the buyers who have bartered with him for rare potions ingredients have expressed pleasure that some wizards can think like goblins when they try. 

“Hogwarts’ Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, is your magical guardian, Mr. Potter. He is in charge of all matters pertaining to your wellbeing in the magical world.” There is a meaningful glance in Snape’s direction.

Well, the solution is in the dark wizard’s hands if he had the wit to deploy it. He came in this morning with a very badly worded letter of permission from Dumbledore to collect an item from a vault. The letter has already been copied to all the junior goblins as an example of how not to do business. Would the professor use it to his advantage? Skergold sat back and crossed his arms and waited.

Severus Snape’s mind was spinning. Dumbledore is the boy’s guardian and the pattern of benign neglect is one that he has seen before from the Headmaster. It is less than five years since the Montgomery girl was nearly ruined by Dumbledore’s lack of attention to her finances. Snape is sure that Albus takes on the role of magical guardian for orphans with honest intent but without the time to do the job properly, previous results have not been good. The same thing was not going to happen to the Potter boy on his watch.

The goblin is throwing him a hint. Finally, the penny drops and feeling embarrassed by his failure to find the proffered loophole faster, he addresses the goblin: “Manager Skergold, I attended the bank earlier today and presented a letter from Albus Dumbledore allowing me to act on his behalf. Would that permission still hold in the case of Mr. Potter?”

The shark-like grin he receives in return tells him he has hit on the right solution. “I believe it would cover this situation. However, you will need to appoint an independent financial manager in the long term.”

Harry is looking between them. Aware of complex undercurrents but unsure where the conversation is going.

“Manager Skergold. As per Albus Dumbledore’s letter, presented to the bank on the First of August 1991, I would like to appoint myself as financial manager to Mr. Harry Potter for a term not to exceed one calendar year and with the intention to appoint a successor to the position permanently with the approval of Gringotts Bank and Mr. Potter.”

“That would be acceptable, Professor Snape, as long as Mr. Potter approves.”

“What am I agreeing to and why?” Harry didn’t mind the professor helping him but this seemed odd.

“Mr. Potter, Albus Dumbledore is a good, no great, wizard. However, he is one man and that man is not only the Headmaster of Hogwarts, he is the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. The calls on his time are unceasing. He is your magical guardian; it is a role he has fulfilled successfully for many students, and he will be the person you turn to in an emergency. However, he simply does not have the time to manage your finances on a day-to-day basis, so I have volunteered myself for that role.”

“OK, then why do you need to appoint someone else? Why can’t you just keep doing it?”

“That is complicated, Mr. Potter. Will you accept a simple answer for now and I will explain the rest later?”

Harry nods.

Severus winces and looks for the least complicated explanation he can offer. “In the end, as with many things in the wizarding world, it comes down to blood and money, Mr. Potter. Your vaults are so extensive in comparison to my own that I would never be free of the suspicion I was taking advantage of you. Also, while I am competent in most areas of wizarding finance, you need to learn estate management from someone who has one of their own – one of the old pureblood families.”

“Did you have someone in mind to take over permanently?” That was Skergold.

“My first choice would be Madam Longbottom, failing that Madam Bones or the Abbots.”

“Not the Weasleys?”

“No, Manager Skergold. Arthur is honest and has the ability but they,” Severus struggled for the words. “Money alone does not make you happy. I have the greatest respect for the Weasleys in that they make a little go far and appear to have a happy family life. They would not refuse if asked but why hurt good people by shoving wealth not their own under their noses?”

“Mr. Potter, do I have your agreement then?”

“Yes, Manager Skergold. Thank you, Professor.”

“Do you have any other business for today then?”

Snape withdrew a bundle of receipts from his pocket. “This is Mr. Potter’s expenditure for the day. Please deduct the potions ingredients, they are on my account. He will need a Gringotts pouch and to visit his trust vault for spending money for the school year. He has the key. I need a copy of the last year’s financial statements so that I can fulfil my role.” Those were all essentials and he did not foresee the goblin objecting. His other requests were on shakier ground. “I would also like to visit the main Potter vault. I seek some mementos of his parents for Harry to take to school.” He screwed up his eyes searching for a memory. “James Potter once spoke of goblin-forged knives in the possession of the Potter family, should I be able to locate them, I would like to negotiate an inheritance fee with smith’s family and for Mr. Potter to take them with him.”

Skergold was surprised by the last two items. The mementos made sense but knives, goblin-forged knives for an eleven-year-old? He requested clarification with a sharp gesture.

“Tell me, Skergold. Do you really believe the Dark Lord dead? Are all of his supporters dead? Do you not think Mr. Potter will need to know how to defend himself?”

Skergold looked at the wizard in front of him. What wizards often forgot was that Gringotts saw every transaction they made from the day they opened their first account or were added to the family vault. The goblins knew, better than the aurors, better than the wizengamot, better than Albus Dumbledore, who supported which side in the war because they knew where every knut came from and went to.

If the Gringotts' buyers respected Snape for his haggling abilities, the management respected the cunning and courage of a man that accepted galleons from Malfoy and the Dark Lord and spent them helping muggleborns escape the terror. Such a man’s opinion on the matter of the death of the Dark Lord was not to be taken lightly.

“Until today, like everyone else, I hoped he was gone. Now I suspect he is not. I thank you for the information.” Valuable information at that, Skergold would start hedging his and his clients long term interests as soon as Snape and Potter left the office. “Griphook.” 

The smaller goblin shot back through the door at the summons. “Please take Mr. Potter to his trust vault. He will need a Gringotts pouch, then show Professor Snape to the main Potter vault.”

At the end of the corridor, they came to a short platform alongside which stood a number of carts. Snape eyed them with disfavour. “Come along, Mr. Potter. I have a feeling you will enjoy this.”

Snape’s suspicion was correct. Potter was hanging on for grim death but his face was split by a huge grin and he was just about managing to restrain a whoop of delight as the cart rocketed along the track descending deeper and deeper into the bank.

They stopped off at vault 687. “This is your trust vault, Potter. You will need about fifty galleons – the gold ones. The silver ones are sickles, the bronze are knuts. Grab a handful of each.”

Harry stared at the piles of coins in his vault and gulped. It looked like Aladdin's cave from a book of fairy tales. He’d never seen anything like it in his life. Griphook thrust a small leather pouch at him impatiently. Harry scrambled the money together and climbed back in to the cart.

The cart descended deeper into Gringotts pulling up at a short platform with six round vault doors set into the wall on the left. “Vault 549.” Griphook said.

“How does this one open, please, Griphook?” Snape is eyeing the door as if it might bite. There is an old crest above it. Not one he recognises. He stares at it intently, trying to memorise every scratch of the carving. The Potter family are a branch of something older. Interesting. “Mr. Potter’s key and my magic, Professor.”

Harry unlocks the door and Griphook confirms permission to open. The vault door creaks as it opens and a dull clang echoes back through the tunnels as it comes to rest against the wall. 

Harry can’t help but stare and the jumble of possessions stacked inside. There is furniture and paintings, exquisite robes in styles three hundred years out of date, stacks of books, open jewellery boxes spilling their contents all over a large dressing table. He cannot even begin to make sense of it.

“Stay there, Mr. Potter while I make sure everything is safe.”

“But it’s my vault, why wouldn’t it be safe?”

“There was chaos at the end of the war, Harry. This has been retrieved and stacked up and preserved – it wouldn’t surprise me to find the contents of the fridge in here somewhere under a stasis charm – but no-one had time to check things. While he is speaking, the Professor is casting a range of dark arts detection charms, cursed-artefact checks and poison detection spells. Everything is coming back clean. 

“You can come in now. Don’t touch anything without checking with me.”

Truth be told, Snape is feeling overwhelmed himself. Spotting the photograph albums he had been looking for, he swiftly selects a dozen photographs of James, Lily, Remus and Peter, studiously ignoring any that contained Sirius Black. He copies them then casts his eye around for anything else that might be of interest to an eleven-year-old boy. He finds a Potter crest cloak pin that will be practical then calls Harry to him.

“These are Potter family wands. Just run your hand over them, see if any of them respond to you.”

Harry does as requested but none of the wands react. 

“Don’t worry about it. Most people can only use their own wand, that is why most family vaults have a stack of them – families keep them but it is rare for them to choose a second owner.”

Finally, he spots the daggers, half-hidden under an old cloak.

“Here they are, Harry, and fine goblin workmanship too.” The blades are eight or nine inches long, one a stiletto, the other a serrated-tip broad blade in a cutaway leather sheath. Harry goes to draw the broader blade from its resting place but Snape stops him. “Never draw a knife unless you mean to draw blood. It’s true for any blade but doubly so for goblin blades, they have their own magic and must be treated with respect.”

“Griphook, who would I need to negotiate with for the inheritance fee on these, please?”

Griphook studies the daggers intently. “They are Blaktuth family daggers. I will set up a meeting for you.”

“Thank you. Will there be any problem with Harry taking them today?”

“Not at all.” Griphook is confident. After all, if Mr. Potter requires access to either of his vaults he must come to the bank and the matter of the daggers will be settled then.

“Come on Harry, we need to go. You still need to get your wand.” 

Harry unwillingly drags his attention away from a little gold ball with fluttering wings.

“It’s a snitch, Harry. It’s part of a quidditch set.” Snape runs through some more diagnostic spells. “You can take it if you want.”

Harry slips the little golden ball into his pocket, unable to explain why it appealed to him so.

As they board the cart for the ride back to the surface (and how does that work, Harry wonders), Snape turns to Griphook. “Please could you send me an inventory for vault 549?”

The goblin nods abruptly, closes the vault door forcefully and escorts them back to the main lobby of the bank.


	6. Wands and ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finally finishes his shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The World of Harry Potter is the creation and property of J. K. Rowling. This work is for entertainment only, I've never been able to persuade anyone to pay me to write.

Severus and Harry stood on the steps of Gringotts, blinking in the bright sunlight. Harry was still re-living the swooping motion of the cart as it thundered through the caves, the professor, meanwhile felt like he had been hit by a bludger and was still trying to work out when he had lost control of the situation.

Somehow, the order to take Harry Potter shopping for school supplies has mutated from a single, simple task into a spider’s web of requirements and obligations. Another kid in need of protection and a wizarding education, the control of whose finances he has filched from Dumbledore (with the help of the goblins) and who would need extensive defense and duelling training on top of his other duties. He found himself requiring a favour from Augusta Longbottom, and Merlin knew she never liked him. He was not looking forward to … speak of the devil.

Madam Augusta Longbottom was striding towards them down Diagon Alley. The famous vulture hat had been eschewed in favour of a summer bonnet due to the heat but her huge, red handbag still carried all before it, a warning beacon that moved witches and wizards out of her path as if they were as insubstantial as ghosts. Her grandson, Neville, trailed dutifully behind, the image of his father, if rounder of face and more subdued of demeanour.

“Come with me, Harry. Don’t speak until spoken to.” Severus stepped forward directly into Madam Longbottom’s path.

“My humble apologies, Madam Longbottom, I had not seen you there. How are you today?” The elderly witch looked at him, unimpressed. She did not believe him to be either clumsy or unaware of his surroundings.

“I understand Neville will be joining us at Hogwarts this year?” The boy at her elbow nodded nervously, eyeing the tall, lean, black-clad stranger with caution.

“And who would ‘us’ be?” Augusta Longbottom cut to the chase. She has many things she would rather do than bandy words with a Death Eater. Sorry, former Death Eater. Dumbledore and his second chances be damned, the whole lot of them should’ve been given the dementor’s kiss at the end of the war.

“May I present, Mr. Harry Potter, Head-in-waiting of House Potter? Mr. Potter, this is Madam Augusta Longbottom, Regent of House Longbottom and her grandson, Neville, Heir Longbottom.”

“Pleased to meet you Ma’am, Mr. Longbottom.” Harry offered a tentative handshake.

Augusta Longbottom eyed the boy up and down and muttered a quiet ‘humph’ to herself before taking his hand. “Pleased to meet you too, Mr. Potter.”

Snape stepped back. If Harry made the running, this conversation might go better but he’s had no chance to talk to him. Hopefully he was paying attention in Skergold’s office and can see a way to get this formidable witch on his side.

“We were just on the way to Ollivander’s to get my wand. Has Neville already got his, or could we go together?” Harry rather liked the look of the round-faced boy currently assessing him from behind the red handbag; he lacked Dudley’s meanness or Malfoy’s stiffness.

Severus is pleased and a little impressed. Potter has hit the right note, even if it was by sheer luck.

“Neville is using his father’s wand, Mr. Potter, but thank you for the invitation.”

Snape looked more closely at the Longbottom heir. He doubted that would work well. The boy might look like Frank Longbottom but, even from a minute’s acquaintance, their personalities were not a close match. Where he remembered Frank as bold, bright and confident, this lad seemed introverted. There was no way that wand would work properly for him.

“But what will he do for a second wand, Madam Longbottom?”

The scowl on her face was back instantly. “He’s going to be a student not a hit wizard, Snape.”

Snape’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He’s been a target before, he’ll be one again. I will be getting Mr. Potter a spare wand and I recommend you do the same for Neville. His life for the sake of a dozen galleons and your pride, Madam Longbottom?”

She flushed angrily but Snape had long ago ceased to care what people thought of him. He would apply sarcasm or anger as required and even provoke outright hatred if it would help. However, he was trying to pull his punches somewhat with Augusta Longbottom today. He needed to work with her for Harry’s sake.

“And if I do, how is he going to learn how to use it? Don’t think I don’t know about the parade of no-hopers Dumbledore has teaching defence.”

“I will be giving Harry private tuition. I could offer the same to Neville if you are interested.”

She had not expected that and was uncertain how she felt about it. Unlike many, she had a long memory, and the image of the sour-faced boy, fresh out of Hogwarts, going straight into the finals of the European duelling championships was clear enough. No doubt he could teach but she did not trust him. He had gone straight from that triumph to the Death Eaters. “What exactly would you be teaching?”

Snape studied her face. She was willing, if he could find the right reassurances. “We could negotiate that, Madam Longbottom. In the first year it would have little to do with magic; speed, endurance, agility and theory until they are older and their cores are more mature.”

“Draw up a contract and I will consider it.” That was a major concession. Snape expressed his pleasure with a slight bow.

With narrowed eyes, Augusta Longbottom held her arm out for the potions master to take and the gestured him onwards to Ollivander’s. It irritated her to have to reconsider her opinions.

With a shrug, he was getting used to chunks of conversations going over his head, Harry fell in behind and offered Neville a cautious smile.

Ollivander’s was the least impressive storefront on Diagon Alley. “He has a captive clientele.” Snape sighed. “Every witch or wizard passes through his doors at least once.”

“I believe the window display is as it was when I was a child.” Augusta concurred.

The shop was empty. Snape moved the chair into the light by the window for Augusta to sit. The two boys stared wide-eyed at the long narrow boxes piled high on the shelves, stretching away into the darkness.

“Good afternoon.” Mr. Ollivander seemed to appear out of thin air. Three of the four customers jumped. The fourth rolled his eyes. “Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom, what a … suitable … co-incidence that you should be in my shop at the same time.”

“Severus, it has been too long. 11 ½” ebony and dragon heartstring, I believe? A pleasure to see you. I still cannot convince you to abandon your cauldrons and take up an apprenticeship?”

“Garrick. I was of the understanding that we disagreed on every fundamental. It would hardly be a harmonious arrangement.”

“Really Severus, what is life without a challenge?”

”Peaceful, I would imagine. I suspect Madam Longbottom would appreciate your assistance for Mr. Longbottom so that she can get home out of this wretched heat.”

Augusta Longbottom found her confusion only increasing. Ollivander had never joked about his craft. He would genuinely consider taking Snape as an apprentice? Neville meanwhile has been summoned deeper into the shop and the magic tape measure was fluttering busily around him. Harry watched, his wide eyes gleaming with interest.

Severus lowered his voice. “People forget my mother was a Prince. My family talents lie in craft not casting.”

“You are correct, Professor. I had forgotten. My apologies. And yet you were a formidable duellist in your youth.”

“Needs must, Madam Longbottom.”

“So, Severus,” there was little emotion in Ollivander’s milky eyes but his body language betrayed his excitement at the opportunity to debate rather than lecture. “What are your thoughts on Mr. Longbottom?”

“I have met Mr. Longbottom but ten minutes since.” But it was hopeless, Severus Snape could never back down from a challenge. “Unicorn hair, for sure. Oak, perhaps: he has more power than initially obvious. Maybe willow or chestnut would be more apt?”

“Oh, no argument about the core.” Mr. Ollivander bustled from shelf to shelf pulling down half a dozen boxes. “Let us try these, young man.”

Neville has become more and more anxious as the conversation has gone on. He only managed to generate a few sparks from his father’s wand which his family took as confirmation of his near squib status. He is uncertain as to what would be the worse outcome; to find a wand that works better, which his grandmother will take as an insult to his father, or to have his magical weakness confirmed to the wider magical community.

“Oak and unicorn hair, 9 ½ inches. Give it a wave.”

Harry was relieved that Neville needed prompting as to the correct course of action. It made him feel a little less lost and bewildered.

The wand did nothing and was replaced with a handsome 13 inch chestnut one. Neville looks at the wand-maker in surprise as he feels the warmth spread over his hand. He waved it experimentally and was rewarded with a few sparks. “Hmm. Not quite right. That’s one you might grow in to, but not now.”

“What do you mean “grow in to” Garrick Ollivander. You don’t change your wand like your boots.” Madam Longbottom was the epitome of disapproval.

“No, madam, but people grow and change. And while the wand chooses the wizard, there is nothing to say that more than one wand will not choose the same wizard. Although, I believe that there is always a best match that we should strive for.” Ollivander threw an apologetic glance at Severus. “That young man over there has had his ebony wand since he was eleven but he has gone through any number of secondary wands over the years and they were not always the same core or wood.”

“Willow and unicorn hair, nice and supple, 11 inches.” He hands the next wand to Neville.

This one didn’t just warm his hand, Neville felt the heat travel all over his body and when he waved it, there was a shower of red and gold sparks that shocked and delighted him in equal measure.

“You were right Severus, if you ever get tired of teaching potions …”

“I will go and do the research that I have been forced to shelve for more than a decade …” but miracle of miracles, Severus Snape just smiled in public.

Madam Longbottom paid for the wand and turned to leave the store. She had much to think about. 

Neville gave Harry a cheerful wave and said “See you at Hogwarts!” Harry nodded but looked disappointed that they were going so soon.

Severus saw his opportunity. “Forgive me the presumption, Madam Longbottom, but it would be nice for Harry and Neville to have a chance to get to know each other before Hogwarts, would it not? Would it be acceptable if I brought the boy to tea a week from Saturday? I believe we have much to discuss that does not belong in a public setting.”

“I will send an invitation.” That man was outrageous, but the idea was good, blast it.

“To myself, please, Madam Longbottom. Mr. Potter will still be at his muggle relatives’ house.”

The door chime sounded twice as the Longbottoms left the cool, dark interior of the shop for the heat and noise of Diagon Alley.

Garrick Ollivander looked at Severus Snape. “You are troubled, young man.”

“Today has been difficult, Garrick, and it is not yet over.”

“You think Mr. Potter will be a challenge to match.”

“And I need you to find him two wands.”

“They will both need to be registered with the ministry.”

“I have no problem with that, although if you could keep the second wand from Albus …”

“Unless he asks specifically, but you need to be aware he has already asked me to let him know which wand chooses Mr. Potter. Why do you think he will be difficult to match?”

“Muggle raised, challenging family. He’s not sure who he is yet.” Harry was irritated that they were talking as if he wasn’t there.

“So, we need to watch for any wand that would take advantage of that.”

“Take advantage?” Harry was unable to contain himself.

“Yes, Mr. Potter. The wand chooses the wizard but they go forward together, influencing one another. If you are still finding your feet, we need to avoid any wand that is too strong-willed, that might prevent you from becoming who you should be.”

Ollivander flipped the sign on the door from “open” to “closed”. “There, that will give us privacy. Are you left- or right-handed, Mr. Potter?”

The tape measure fluttered around him as it had Neville but when it has finished, Mr. Ollivander is still looking perplexed. “You are going to be challenging, aren’t you?”

Twenty wand boxes later they were no further forward. Ollivander raised his eyebrows at Snape. “Stop looking smug and make some suggestions.”

“Phoenix feather core. For the wood, I am uncertain. Aspen, Oak? How much does believing in a destiny shape the future?”

Ollivander re-shelved the previous efforts and returned with four boxes. He placed three directly on the chair but looked uncertainly at the fourth.

“If you are worried about it, it is almost certain to be the correct choice.” Snape said cynically.

Ollivander opened the box and handed the wand to Harry. “Holly and phoenix feather. Eleven inches, supple.”

The shower of red and gold sparks surprised no-one.

“So, what’s so bad about this wand?” Harry was puzzled. The wand felt good, felt right.

“Nothing in and of itself. It suggests you have a temper, so you may have a couple of tough years learning self-control.” Snape was trying to be nonchalant but didn’t need divination to know who was likely to be on the receiving end of said temper.

“It represents a dichotomy, Mr. Potter. The holly is passionate, the phoenix is detached. It is also the brother wand to the Dark Lord’s – he also has a phoenix tail feather core from the same bird – Dumbledore’s phoenix.”

“What does that mean?” Harry knew it didn't sound good.

“That your second wand is more important than ever.” Could it get any more complicated? Snape seethed. "Brother wands are rare and unpredictable if they come into conflict. Both wands can decide to side with one wizard in a duel."

“What do you think, Severus? Where will we find his second wand?” Ollivander tried to move the conversation away from such painful matters.

“You know what I am going to say, Garrick. One of your grandfather’s specials.”

“I don’t like those wands. They haven’t found a wizard in over a hundred years. Why would it happen now?”

“They are good wands. And why are you upset that it has taken so long to get a match? There are older wands in this shop and your great-great-grandson will still stock and sell your creations for when the right wizard arrives.”

Ollivander continued to mutter disconsolately as he retreated to a dark corner and returned with half a dozen battered and extremely dusty boxes. He cheered slightly when he opened the first box. “You will remember this one, Severus.”

The wand looked nothing like any of the others Harry had seen. All of Ollivander’s wands, for all that they were carved and ornamented, looked like natural products of the tree from which they were made. This wand did not look natural. It was made of two different woods. A silvery-pale aspen and pitch-black ebony wrapped around each other in a perfect spiral. The tip was a cone of aspen, the handle a solid capsule of ebony inlaid with a series of runes in the most delicate mother of pearl marquetry. It sang to Harry.

“Aspen and ebony with dragon heartstring. 12 inches.”

Harry picked it up and felt the heat flood through him. When he waved it, the sparks were not red and gold but silver and green.

“And a bloody hatstall on top of everything else.” Ollivander heard Snape’s growl but Harry, fortunately, did not.

“That is an elegant, balanced wand, Mr. Potter. Should it cease to work easily for you, you would do well to look to your own inner balance. It will help you anticipate and resolve problems before they become entrenched.”

“Mr. Potter. You will need to keep that wand out of sight. There is no benefit to having a back up if everyone know that you have it and what it looks like. That a Gerbold Ollivander wand has chosen you would cause a great deal of comment.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“And yet you need to practice. A second wand is no good if you cannot cast a spell instantly. Every spell you learn. Both wands, both hands, Mr. Potter. If you are doing it right, I should not be able to tell which combination you are using.”

“Garrick, could we have one hip holster for now, please? I will be equipping him properly once I have a better understanding of his fighting style.”

Harry handed over the requisite 23 galleons then Snape showed him how to attach the holster to his trousers and draw the wand if necessary. The latter lesson was accompanied by dire threats as to what would happen to him if he were to draw the wand or cast any spell, without instruction from an adult witch or wizard, outside of Hogwarts.

**Author's Note:**

> My use of the comma is atrocious and I am addicted to ellipses...
> 
> I believe in the passive voice.
> 
> I don't have a beta because I already have creative differences with myself. All mistakes are therefore mine.
> 
> Updates will be sporadic because I never met a deadline I didn't stretch beyond breaking point.
> 
> Edited for a typo in the notes. 01/03/2018


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